


feelings (of an almost human nature)

by wocket



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Hand Jobs, Homecoming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: Tim flies back to the US after the Gulf War. Mike Fortier welcomes him home.
Relationships: Tim McVeigh/Mike Fortier
Kudos: 4





	feelings (of an almost human nature)

It’s impossible to not spy Timothy McVeigh walking through Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, his thin, tall body clad in fatigues. His walk toward Mike, though taken at a steady pace, feels like it takes _years_. It’s the end of the day, Tim’s flight having been delayed multiple times, but Mike couldn’t find it within himself to go home empty-handed.

“Get over here,” Mike mutters, reaching for his buddy Tim when he finally makes his way through the terminal. _An object in motion stays in motion_ , he thinks, catching Tim before he can run to some other spot on the planet.

Tim pushes his face into the space between Mike’s neck and shoulder. He has to bend down a little to do it, hands gripping Mike’s waist after he drops his bag. 

Mike’s arms come up around him, enfolding him; he smoothes his palms over Tim’s shoulderblades.

“You’re home now,” Mike tells him, not sure what else to say. He skims his hands over Tim’s skinny bones, surrounds him in a hug.

Tim’s breathing gets harder, labored, his face still smushed against Mike. He finally pulls his head up. He wipes his cheek so quickly Mike can’t tell if those were tears or not.

“Mike,” he finally says, taking in the sight of his friend for the first time in months. “Hey.” 

Mike squeezes his shoulder. “I can’t believe it’s really you, Tim.” The airport noise is a constant hum around them. “Let’s get out of here,” Mike tells him, after noticing the way Tim shifts his weight uncomfortably, paranoid eyes examining every angle of the scene. _It’s over,_ Mike wants to tell him, _at least for you,_ he thinks naively, without realizing that the Gulf War is something Tim will carry with him for the rest of his days.

*

Tim stares at his hands, trying not to glance out the window of Mike’s truck on the drive back to the Fortier trailer in Kingman. For the first time in months, nobody’s telling him where to go, what to do. 

Tim turns on the radio, searching through the stations for some kind of classic rock. He’s forgotten what plays on each station in Kingman, flipping through aimlessly until he finds something he likes. 

When he does eventually look out the window, it’s hard to miss how much the sand in western Arizona reminds him of Kuwait, too different and too familiar all at once. He looks down instead.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Mike frowns. He reaches for Tim’s knee, taps it with his fingers. “It’s a lot?”

“Sorry,” Tim apologizes, feeling dramatic.

“Shut up, man,” Mike tells him. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Mike doesn’t drive them back to his trailer immediately, he pulls off on the side of the road at a lookout a few miles from Kingman. “Come on,” Mike encourages, shutting the car off. Tim follows him into the desert.

The further they get from Phoenix, the easier it is to see the stars. Full moon overhead, they both stare into the dark night, wondering what the other is thinking.

Mike breaks the silence.

“Fuck, man, do you know how much I missed you?” Mike turns to face Tim.

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again,” Tim admits. He looks at Mike, really looks, takes him in and studies everything about him, every line on his face, the curve of his jaw.

Tim reaches for Mike, surer this time without the crowd in the airport buzzing around them. There’s nobody out here, nobody to notice or care. It feels less like a hug and more like two halves of a whole meeting, somehow. This time, Tim doesn’t let go.

Arms full of his best friend, Mike suddenly remembers the topic of Tim’s last letter. “How was your tryout for the Special Forces?”

“None of your business,” Tim snips. He can’t meet Mike’s eyes.

Mike feels Tim stiffen in his grasp and he realizes things must not have gone as well as Tim had hoped.

“That good, huh?” Mike doesn’t ask any more questions. He just holds on to his friend. He runs a hand over Tim’s back until he feels some of the tension slip away into the shadows.

“I want Pizza Hut,” Tim finally says.

“I’ll take you to the Pizza Hut,” Mike laughs. “I’ll buy you as many pizzas as you want.”

Tim buries his grin in Mike’s hair. “Then I want to get in bed with you. Nothing else for a week straight.” 

Mike slips his hand under Tim’s shirt. He rubs his thumb over the pale skin at his waist. “We can make that happen.” He gets his hands on Tim’s hips and pulls him closer. 

Tim huffs and presses his forehead to Mike’s shoulder. “It’s not even… it’s not a sex thing, I just want to sleep beside you.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Well, that was something. Mike holds him closer. “Been a long time.”

“You have no idea. I didn’t _sleep_ over there. Up all night, every night… Waiting…”

“You can rest now,” Mike promises.

Tim presses his face into Mike’s broad chest.

“You’re my favorite person,” Tim murmurs to Mike, pulling back and looking at his friend. He knots his hand in Mike’s long hair and kisses him in full view of the road.

“Are you sure?” Mike asks breathlessly after the kiss.

“I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about a lot of things anymore.” Tim sighs. His next kiss is slow, drinking Mike in. “Take me home, Mike.”

The rest of their drive home is quiet.

Ten minutes later, Mike pulls the truck into his driveway. A gust of wind ripples the yellow Gadsden flag above the door. “Lori’s at her parents,” he tells Tim. It’s just easier that way. 

“Thanks.”

Tim follows him down the gravel path and into his trailer, greeted by a familiar smell. 

“You need something to drink? Smoke?”

Tim looks around the trailer, looking over everything that’s changed since he’s been away. He shakes his head, looking tired, like he’s holding himself up.

Mike smiles. “Go to bed, babe.” He takes Tim’s duffel bag from his shoulder, relieving him of the weight. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Tim pulls off his cap and runs a hand through his short hair. Exhausted, he disappears to Mike’s bedroom.

Mike changes into his sweatpants and grabs a beer, going to find Tim afterward. The taller man is splayed face-down on the bed, still completely dressed, long limbs akimbo. Mike squeezes Tim’s thigh. He runs his hand over Tim’s haunches, his ass, across his spine. 

“Mmm,” Tim murmurs, savoring Mike’s touch.

“Feel good?”

Tim hums an appreciative response. Mike keeps touching him, smoothing his hands all over his skin. He presses his fingers against the knob at the base of Tim’s spine, working his way up under his shirt.

“Take your shirt off,” Mike requests, tapping his fingers against the collar.

Tim resists at first, but Mike’s hands are warm. He keeps massaging his muscles, skating his large palms over Tim’s skin, so Tim rolls over and starts working the buttons. 

Mike watches his long fingers until he can’t resist pitching in, his hands covering Tim’s. Mike helps get his shirt off the rest of the way and kisses Tim’s pale chest, works his way down, leaves kisses on Tim’s abs. He reaches for Tim’s belt but Tim’s hands stop him.

“Not right now,” Tim pleads, clinging to Mike. “I - I’m sorry, Mike, please?”

Mike pulls back. He drops a kiss on Tim’s forehead and lies down behind him, pulling Tim’s lithe body back toward his own until his back is pressed against Mike’s broad chest.

Mike feels Tim relax in his arms a little.

“I barely feel human,” Tim admits.

“You don’t have to be anything with me,” Mike reminds him. “Okay?” Mike waits to say anything else until he thinks Tim is probably asleep. “Thank you for coming home,” he whispers.

“Are you kidding?” Tim murmurs back sleepily. “It was the only option.”

Mike wraps the blanket tighter around their shoulders. He reaches his hand up and presses his palm against Tim’s bare chest, just above his heart, feeling the steady beat underneath his hand.

Their sleep is restful.

*

When Mike wakes up, Tim’s body is still lined up against his own. Mike feels his morning wood pressed against his hip. His own erection is tenting his sweatpants. He sticks a hand down his pants, strokes himself once, but that’s not the goal. The mission is to make Tim feel good.

Mike waits for Tim to wake. He _must_ be tired, normally he’s an early riser. In the meantime, he traces a finger over Tim’s skinny arms. He’d always been thin but he’d lost weight while stationed overseas.

“Hey you,” Mike says fondly when Tim’s eyes blink open a few minutes later. Tim looks sleepy, but clearer than the night before. “Feeling better?”

Tim nods and leans in for a sleepy kiss, a little more confident than last night. “Mornin’, Mike,” he says in between pecks, unwittingly grinding against Mike’s thigh.

Mike reaches down to Tim’s hip, gets straight down to business. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do,” Tim rumbles.

Mike reaches down and strokes Tim’s dick over his pants. He reaches inside Tim’s trousers, pressing his thumb against the head.

Tim can’t help but let out a little groan and buck into Mike’s fist. “Haven’t been touched in so long,” he tells him. His deployment had lasted several months. 

Mike presses harder, forms a circle with his fist and jerks Tim a few times. He grips harder when he sees Tim’s eyes flutter closed. Mike starts jerking Tim off, setting his pace to the noises escaping Tim’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Tim murmurs. He grabs at Mike’s broad shoulders.

Mike flicks his wrist. “You like that?”

Tim arches up into his hand. He grabs Mike’s long hair, pulling a little desperately. “Told you. It’s been a while,” he laughs, tugging Mike into a kiss.

Tim reaches down and gropes Mike’s boner over his sweatpants, reaching inside to jerk Mike off. The last time they did this was the week leading up to Tim’s deployment, trading furtive handjobs in Tim’s Spectrum under the cover of night.

Mike grunts his appreciative response. “Yeah, fuck — _Tim_ ,” he gasps. His cock pulses with interest in Tim’s fist. It doesn’t take long to make him come, he’s been thinking about this since Tim was on the plane ride home. Maybe longer.

His own pleasure out of the way, Mike works with a renewed focus. He gets Tim’s fatigues in two fistfuls and tugs, yanking them down Tim’s skinny legs. Mike works his own fist faster around Tim’s cock, determined to make the other man feel good. Tim’s cock is hard, leaking, both of them a mess under each other’s hands.

Mike does some mystical thing with his hand that Tim is _really_ going to have to learn how to do himself. Mike’s hand on Tim’s cock and his teeth on Tim’s neck is the combination that sets Tim off, leaving him murmuring curses under his breath, and he spills over Mike’s fist.

After he comes, Tim flops back against the bed, head sinking into the pillow. “Hot damn.” He nuzzles Mike’s jaw with his nose. “Worth the wait?”

“Of course,” Mike answers. Mike wrestles a naked Tim on top of him, holding him steady by his waist, looking up into his blue eyes fondly. He’s so skinny that it barely feels like there’s any weight on him at all. “Pizza for breakfast?”

Tim leans down to give Mike another kiss, an agreement, pleased he remembered Tim’s request. “Pizza for breakfast.”


End file.
